Behind the Curtains
by Socrates7727
Summary: Draco has some time to himself and decides to relax the best way he knows how, which may or may not include fantasizing about Harry Potter. Little does he know, he isn't alone. HPDM oneshot written for Day 4 of the 30 Day NSFW challenge! Smutty, no lemon.


AN I do not own HP or any of the characters! Written for Day 4 of the 30 day NSFW challenge! Smutty oneshot for now. HPDM.

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Day 4 - Masturbation

Draco had had a long day. He was sick and tired of nearly everyone around him, from his friends to the bloody portraits, and he wanted nothing more than to be alone. Alone, and relaxed... It took him all of five minutes to scarf down some semblance of dinner, and then he was gone, dismissing his followers without a second thought.

None of them so much as glanced up as he hurried from the Great Hall. If he made it back to their room quickly, he would have another hour or so at least before anyone had gorged themselves enough to risk returning to the dorms. He ducked into the shadows every time someone passed, and made it to the Slytherin common room entrance in record time. Motivation was a hell of a drug.

Once inside, he nodded to the few third years who were cramming for a Potions exam on the floor and excused himself to the room he normally shared with Blaise and Theo, among others. The two Quidditch players were on a long weekend holiday with their parents, though, and Crabbe and Goyle wouldn't leave dinner until at least three servings had been had of every single dish, which gave him plenty of time. Sighing, he let himself collapse back onto his bed and placed a locking charm on his curtains. Then, a silencing charm just in case.

He vanished his clothes without a second thought, knowing that he had both the time and the privacy to draw this out for once. Merlin, he was already hard from just thinking about it. His hands refused to immediately soothe the ache between his legs, though, and instead started at his throat, leaving long, languid scratches all over his skin as they worked their way down to his chest. He passed his palms over each nipple, refusing to allow any more than that, and teased down the centerline of his stomach. His hips stuttered at the anticipation.

The first touch was always the best and the worst, in his opinion, because it jolted through his body like a spell. Slowly, he rolled his hips and rocked into his hand. It wouldn't take long, if he rushed it, but Draco was in the mood to draw it out so he quickly removed his hand, though his body protested. Instead, he hooked his fingers under one knee and brought one leg up at an angle. With the other hand, he wet his thumb and began spreading spit over his hole.

He shuddered and let his head fall back against his pillow. For years, now, he'd fought a silent battle with himself to try to envision first nothing, and then Pansy, and then finally Blaise whenever he indulged like this but his mind always refused in the end. He'd given up fighting it, and he welcomed the mental images of the Gryffindor Seeker.

Harry, glistening with sweat and breathing hard from a difficult play. Harry, with a broom between his legs, hovering in the air just inches from him like some kind of unattainable nirvana. Harry, his eyes wicked with the knowledge of exactly what he was doing, rolling his hips and rutting against his broomstick while Draco watched. Merlin…

The first finger drew a sharp groan from Draco's lips. He pictured a dark, calloused finger there instead of his own and it wasn't even worth arguing with himself anymore—it was Harry's finger. A second finger pressed in beside the first, and Draco had to swallow hard to keep some facade of self control. Why? He had no idea anymore. Still, the habit was ingrained in him and he did it again without even thinking, really, when he curled his fingers deliberately into his prostate.

For now, all he allowed was a slight brush against the bundle of nerves. He pictured Harry leaning over him, pupils blown wide with nothing but lust, and planting kisses all over his chest with every thrust of his fingers. Draco could almost feel the love bites on his skin. He imagined that it was Harry's hand holding his leg up, and it was Harry's fingers reaching inside him. It was Harry who knew every inch of his body, and it was Harry who wanted nothing more than to watch him fall apart in ecstasy.

Draco whined, low in his throat, but refused to touch his aching cock. His balls were beyond tight, throbbing with every beat of his heart, but he would only let his palm hit against them as a consequence of what his fingers were doing—nothing more. He could come without being touched, and he planned to.

In his mind, Harry laughed at his neediness and left hickeys on his throat so everyone would see. The Gryffindor removed both fingers and, while Draco added a third, he imagined that Harry had replaced them with his cock. That mental image was enough to send arcs of pleasure through his body. His breath came in short little pants that barely sucked in any oxygen and he arched off the mattress, trying everything in his power to make his fingers—no, to make Harry's cock—slide deeper.

He begged Harry to fuck him, breathless and writhing on the bed, until his voice began to crack. His skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat and he imagined Harry licking at his nipples, at his throat, at anything within reach just to show that he could taste whatever part of Draco that he wanted to—that the Slytherin Prince belonged to him, and only him.

A low, familiar tingling was beginning to build at the base of his spine. Draco's cock actually _hurt_ from the inattention but he refused to give into the urge, instead picturing Harry's face. The Gryffindor would tsk at him and shake his head, smiling all the while. _You can come from just my cock, can't you little dragon?_ Draco would beg for more, for any touch that Harry would allow, but would keep his hands obediently wherever they'd been placed. He would whine and plead until his throat was raw, but no touch would come.

Instead, all he would feel would be the harsh, blissful pace Harry was setting and the friction of every thrust against his prostate. Heat began to climb up his insides, using his ribs like rungs of a ladder and threatening to choke his lungs. He tossed relentlessly on the mattress, thrusting back against his hand and matching every single motion with a practiced kind of precision. Harry's face—tight, and flushed—taunted him.

The Gryffindor would scratch at his sides, and Draco would shriek as the sizzle of pain only made the urge in the pit of his stomach grow stronger. His own voice echoed back at him, begging Harry to go harder, to go faster, to do anything but stop. He could feel everything, from the comfort of Harry's weight to the warmth of his breath, and he arched again, searching for anything that would push him over the edge.

Harry would bite his lip. He would look down at Draco with a greedy sort of desire, and Draco would clench his internal muscles just to watch that controlled expression falter. The burn climbing up his spine would coil tighter, and tighter, until he was sure he couldn't take anymore. Harry would lower his lips beside Draco's ear, licking along the shell and nibbling at the lobe. Breathless, he would whisper: _come for me_.

Draco came with a shout, Harry's name still on his lips. Pleasure washed over him in waves, tingling over his skin and curling around every muscle he had until he felt like gravity had ceased to exist. Instantly, the impaling thrusts of his fingers were too much and he arched away from them, but didn't stop. He imagined Harry, his face contorted in concentration and his body strained in all the right ways, pounding into him those last few times. He _felt_ Harry's release.

Draco lay there, panting, for what felt like hours. He didn't want to open his eyes or go back to reality just yet, he wanted to focus so hard on the image of Harry collapsing beside him that he could actually feel the bed shift. If he really thought about it, he could feel the warmth of Harry's naked body curling into his side. Harry would wrap an arm protectively around his waist, like he was suddenly breakable again.

Finally, Draco shattered the illusion for himself and groped blindly for his wand. He was exhausted, now, and he vanished the mess without even opening his eyes. Clothes were unnecessary, he just wanted to sleep.

"I must be pretty damn good in your imagination if I can make you scream like that." Instantly, Draco was awake. He jolted upright, wand already raised and glowing with a half-said curse. Harry was standing at the end of his bed, one hand drawing the curtain to the side and the other gripping the bed post a little too tightly. His face was flushed, but Draco couldn't process that detail along with all the other ones.

"Potter, what the fuck!?" He didn't reach for his clothes, though, or attempt to cover himself. If Harry had just seen what he thought he'd seen, then there was nothing left to hide from the Gryffindor. Harry at least had the decency to look sheepish.

"I came to talk to you because you're never alone and you're impossible to corner usually. You were… busy." Yeah, no shit, Draco couldn't help thinking. His breathing was returning to normal though, and he remembered that they were in his room, in Slytherin territory, so he tried to take comfort in that.

"I'm well aware. How the hell did you open that curtain?" Harry glanced at his hand, but merely shrugged.

"Power of fear, I guess." Wait, what? Draco was sure that he'd heard that wrong because what would the Chosen One be scared of down here? Other than Snape, of course.

"Fear?" It was Harry's turn to blush bright red, finally, and Draco breathed a sigh of relief that they were at least on equal footing now. Still, he wanted an answer.

"When I first came in, you were… You sounded like… Well, you were whimpering and breathing hard and, I don't know why, but I got this mental image of Voldemort torturing you and I panicked. I know it's ridiculous, but—"

"It's not ridiculous." Somehow, the only part of that explanation that had managed to resonate with Draco was the undercurrent of protectiveness behind every word. Harry had been prepared to face Voldemort for him. Granted, that was not at all what the situation was and Draco knew that that wasn't the part he should be focusing on, but still. That protective arm around his waist didn't seem like such a far off fantasy, anymore.

"Well, did you want to talk to me?" Draco gestured towards the end of the mattress, but Harry paled.

"You're… naked." He was—very naked—but Draco didn't really care. It wasn't like he had any kind of modesty to recover and he was far from ashamed of his body so he relished the chance to (hopefully) tease the Gryffindor a bit.

"And you're turned on. Got any more obvious statements to declare?" Both of their eyes flicked to Harry's crotch, which was very clearly tented now. Maybe that was why Draco wasn't shy or embarrassed… Because he could very clearly see the effect that his little indulgence had had on the Gryffindor and he loved it. He'd turned Harry on, which meant that Harry was attracted to him. Even if it was unconscious, Draco counted that as a victory.

"I'm sorry, I…" Harry trailed off, looking somewhere between uncertain and terrified, but Draco barely noticed. This was the chance of a lifetime. He had Harry alone in his room, clearly aroused by him, and he was not going to let an opportunity like that just walk out the door.

"Don't be. I could help you with that, if you wanted me too." Dark eyebrows furrowed, trying to tell if this was some kind of sick joke, but Draco just stared right back. He was not kidding, and he wanted Harry to take the offer seriously even if he chose to refuse it.

Harry did not refuse.

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Thanks so much for reading! Please review! New HPDM oneshot coming (approx) every day now!


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